


I Always Knew You'd Join the Army

by sterlingsuspenders



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drinking, M/M, Pre-TWS, WWII era, repressed feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 02:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4462172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterlingsuspenders/pseuds/sterlingsuspenders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“They let me in,” he says—slow and measured like he's trying to keep a grip on his temper, "because I was the best man for the job.”</p><p>Bucky barks out a laugh and levers himself to his feet. “You mean the man with enough blind patriotism not to ask questions.” He steps forward, into Steve's space, and Steve doesn't retreat. That, at least, is familiar. Steve—even the skinny Steve he grew up with—never would. “You mean the man desperate enough that he would do anything to enlist.”</p><p> Steve's expression is dark. Bucky's never seen him like this—at least, not directed at him. He's seen Steve small and furious, willing to take on boys twice his size if it meant standing up for what he believed in. But Bucky? He's never looked at Bucky like this. “I'm a soldier,” he says, tone icy.<br/> <br/>“No, you're a lab rat,” Bucky snarls, shoving Steve in the chest—a challenge, a dare, anything. “Trust me, I know exactly what that looks like.” Steve found him strapped to a table; he got there fast enough to save Bucky's life, but not fast enough to stop what they did to him. “And the worst part? Is that you let them.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Always Knew You'd Join the Army

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by the chorus of a Joyce Manor song called In The Army Now which goes "I always knew you'd leave me, someday. I always knew you'd have to go. I always knew you'd join the army."
> 
> The fic is an expansion of the scene after they save Bucky and the rest of the Howling Commandos; a few snippets of dialogue are taken directly from the film.

The man who saves him isn't Steve. At least, that's how it feels, at first. He can see glimpses of his life-long friend underneath the bulk and the bravado—that stubborn punk he'd chased around Brooklyn, the one he'd always, always believed in. That man is still in there.

It wouldn't be fair to say Bucky's jealous.

But it also wouldn't be wrong.

He's spent a lifetime looking out for Steve Rogers. Except now Steve doesn't need him. The night they get back, they celebrate. Well, it's supposed to be celebrating. Bucky just gets drunk and calls it a good time. But it aches: the fact that Steve is right there beside him, right there like he always is. When they'd been captured, Bucky was too sure he was never going to see Steve, again. There's an ugly little part of him that wonders if he was right.

There was a time when nobody looked twice at Steve Rogers. But now? Even Bucky can't miss the way women stare. He swallows down the rage and the possessiveness and all the jealous things he wants to say to them. _I know he's fucking beautiful,_ he wants to shout, _I saw it **first.**_

Steve turns that blinding smile on him and Bucky's stomach turns. His intentions with Steve have never been strictly noble. But he's been good. He's been so good—never acted on his compulsions. Not once.

“How 'bout you?” Steve asks; he's glowing, like this. It's like he's finally found his stride and Bucky wasn't even there to see it. “You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”

The title sounds absurd, coming out of Steve's mouth. Captain goddamn America. Honestly? Bucky doesn't want a thing to do with him. He forces a smile even as his grip around his glass of whiskey goes white-knuckled and tight. “Hell no,” he scoffs, and it's hard to look Steve in the eye. It's like staring into the sun. “That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight. I'm following him.”

For a second, Steve smiles at him in that way of his and Bucky can pretend it's not breaking his heart. But the noise in the room goes suddenly silent, and then Peggy Carter is on her way into the room. And it's like Steve can't even see him.

Maybe it's selfish, but Bucky isn't used to being the man on the sidelines. He's not used to women ignoring him, but Peggy breezes past him like he's a piece of furniture. When she steps up to Steve, it's like nobody else in the room matters. Something ugly and jealous goes hot inside him and he has to look away just to keep himself quiet.

Steve hasn't looked away from her. Not once.

“In fact,” she goes on—and she's beautiful. Absolutely stunning and a little bit terrifying and it's no wonder Steve's infatuated. Bucky's known Steve his whole life—he is definitely infatuated. “When this is all over, I might even go dancing.”

“Well then what are we waiting for?” He asks, sharp and sudden and completely lacking charm or tact. It's a last-ditch effort and she doesn't even _look_ at him. Neither of them do.

“The right partner.”

Bucky excuses himself—finds a cozy little spot in what looks like a storage room in the back and brings a couple of beers with him. He's drunk by the time Steve finds him.

“There you are,” Steve sighs, closing the door behind him. “Been looking for you all night.”

Bucky scoffs. He's sitting on the floor, back against the wall, and Steve seems impossibly huge when he finally looks up at him. “You—you aren't supposed to be here.”

Steve gets this look on his face: that same, soft, placating look he always gets when Bucky finds himself a little too drunk. “Yeah, and neither are you, buddy. Don't think we're allowed to be hangin' around in the back. Let's go back to our friends, okay?”

“You know that's not what I meant.” He feels sick in a way that has nothing to do with the booze. He keeps thinking about the dopey look on Steve's face when he saw Peggy. He keeps thinking—god, he keeps thinking about that scrap of a kid from Brooklyn who'd do anything to stand up for the underdog. Bucky wants that kid back. 

“They only let you in,” Bucky slurs, “so they could turn you into _that_.”

The smile drops off of Steve's face and his mouth thins to a hard line. “They let me in,” he says—slow and measured like he's trying to keep a grip on his temper, “because I was the best man for the job.”

Bucky barks out a laugh and levers himself to his feet. “You mean the man with enough blind patriotism not to ask questions.” He steps forward, into Steve's space, and Steve doesn't retreat. That, at least, is familiar. Steve—even the skinny Steve he grew up with—never would. “You mean the man _desperate_ enough that he would do _anything_ to enlist.”

Steve's expression is dark. Bucky's never seen him like this—at least, not directed at him. He's seen Steve small and furious, willing to take on boys twice his size if it meant standing up for what he believed in. But Bucky? He's never looked at Bucky like this. “I'm a soldier,” he says, tone icy.

“No, you're a lab rat,” Bucky snarls, shoving Steve in the chest—a challenge, a dare, anything. “Trust me, I know exactly what that looks like.” Steve found him strapped to a table; he got there fast enough to save Bucky's life, but not fast enough to stop what they did to him. “And the worst part? Is that you let them.”

Steve shoves back, and that's exactly what Bucky wants: to rile him up, to get him to fight back. He's bigger than Bucky, now. Steve could hurt him. He never would, but he could. Bucky almost wishes he'd do it. There's a desperate look in Steve's eye and Bucky's just drunk enough to love it.

“You joined, too.” Steve searches Bucky's expression. Bucky wonders what he finds. “You agreed to do whatever it took for this country, same as me!”

“I was drafted!”

“You wanted to be!”

Bucky stops dead in his tracks and stares at Steve. That's when the laughter sets in—drunken hysteria seeping in to make up for the hollow ache in his chest. “No, Steve,” he says, the words warm from the liquor and warm from the laughter. “I didn't.” It's the second biggest secret he's ever kept from Steve.

It's hilarious. He looks so goddamn shocked. Like he must have really, truly thought that Bucky wanted this as much as he did. Steve recoils like he's been struck and Bucky? He laughs and laughs and laughs. 

“God, you've got no idea, do you? I didn't want this. I was terrified of the draft. And once I got here? Do you know how often I thought about putting a bullet in my own leg just so they'd have to send me back?” He wonders whether the fact that he never did it makes him even more of a coward or, somehow, almost brave. “The only thing that makes this place worth it is that you're here, now. And you—fuck, you shouldn't be.”

The shock gives way to another burst of anger, and Steve is staring him down like he's two seconds from throwing a punch. Bucky wishes he would.

“What are you trying to say, Buck?” Steve grits out. “That I'm too sick? Too small? That war's no place for me?”

He has no idea. He really doesn't.

Bucky's voice is hardly more than a rough whisper. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “War is exactly the place for you. And that's why you shouldn't be here. It fits you too fucking well. You'll die for this, Steve.”

Bucky has seen the hard, stubborn set of that jaw hundreds and hundreds of times. “That's a risk I'm willing to take.”

This time, when Bucky shoves him, it's hard enough that Steve's back hits the wall. “I'm not.” He pushes and pushes and there's nowhere for Steve to go but the hurt is so raw and so ugly and Bucky doesn't know what to do with it. “You son of a bitch, _I'm not_.”

He knows better than this—even drunk he knows better than this—but nothing ever gets through to Steve when he's like this, and he just wants Steve to _listen_. He snatches Steve by the lapels and drags him down into a kiss that's all teeth and fury. Bucky may be drunk, but he doesn't imagine it.

Steve kisses back.

But he also pushes Bucky away. “You're drunk,” he says, and Bucky's doing everything he can to drag Steve back in.

“So what?” He pants, settling for mouthing at Steve's neck when Steve won't let himself be pulled back into another kiss. “You're going to get us both fucking killed so what does it matter?” He's tugging at Steve's buttons, trying to get him out of his jacket, and Steve is at least a little bit caught up in the frenzy of it, even if he's trying to be the voice of reason.

“Bucky, wait--”

“Where's that fucking fighter I met in Brooklyn? Huh? Where's that—”

“BUCKY.”

He stops, frozen in his tracks, and realizes what he's done. Taking a stumbling step back, Bucky covers his face, dissolving into weak little bursts of laughter that are too close to something else.

“I'm scared,” he admits, lifting his head to look at Steve. “Isn't that completely fuckin' ridiculous? I could handle staring down the barrel of the enemy's gun, but knowing _you're_ here? I'm fucking terrified.”

Steve's whole demeanor changes. He takes a step forward and Bucky has to resist the urge to step back. He's ashamed—god, he's so fucking ashamed of himself. “I won't let anything happen to you, Buck--”

Bucky laughs, sharp and bitter. It's a wet sound. He's so close to tears now, it's humiliating. “Idiot. It's not that. When you were back home? When you were safe? I could go to sleep at night knowing I was helping to keep this war _away_ from you. Now? You're marching straight to it's goddamn door.”

“I have to, Buck,” Steve says, his voice gentle. He takes another step closer and Bucky aches.

“I know that. You think I don't know that? Always knew you'd find some way to cheat the system. You've always been a stubborn son of a bitch.”

“Hey,” Steve scolds, his tone an attempt at light and playful. He reaches out to nudge Bucky's shoulder. “I won't have you talking about my mother that way.”

Bucky laughs—a real laugh. God, he's so in love it hurts. He knows he's drunk, but he feels painfully sober. And Steve, he's shining just as bright as he always has. The little guy he remembers hasn't changed one bit, it turns out.

“Do me a favor,” he rasps—and it's self-indulgent, the way he tips forward against Steve's chest knowing that Steve will catch him. “Don't die out there.” Steve wraps his arms around him and Bucky lets out a shaky breath.

There's a silence that drags on too long, and Bucky's already feeling heavy in his own skin when Steve rests his chin on his forehead and whispers, “I'm not making any promises I can't keep.”

Bucky ignores the tug in his chest and looks up at Steve, instead. “Alright,” he whispers, “Then just—promise me you won't tell anyone. About this.” He leans up and he kisses Steve: slow and deliberate and unhurried.

Steve kisses back.


End file.
